


How Starsky Became the 'Barbara Cartland' of Bay City

by LilyK



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Humor, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: Funny things happen on stakeouts.





	How Starsky Became the 'Barbara Cartland' of Bay City

Stakeouts were boring. Hutch hated stakeouts, and tonight was no different. He shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time and looked at his partner; totally disgusted at what he saw. 

Starsky was, apparently, not bored. In fact, he was humming. Happily humming. Hutch hated when Starsky hummed. How could he be happy on a boring stakeout? Everything about it was dull. The night was neither hot nor cold. Kind of warmish, with a dull sky, and an even duller warehouse that Hutch was occasionally observing with his binoculars. 

They took turns, as good partners did. One hour on, one hour off, until their shift was finished. Or until they got to shoot some bad guys. It was his turn on watch while Starsky had a break, so he did his job (grudgingly, since Starsky was happy), keeping somewhat alert for any movement. But it was damned hard to be watchful when he was so bored! Three days! Nothing for three long, boring days (or nights, depending on the shift.) That was three shifts he and Starsky had sat in his squash, watching the warehouse on the off chance that a less-than-reliable tip off from a less-than-reliable snout about a heroin shipment proved true. Or false. Of course, they couldn't use the Torino. It was like sitting in a red soup can with a huge white neon finger pointing down at them saying: Cops Here! Blink, blink, blink. So they camped out in the Ford Hutch loved, not the one he despised. Hutch didn't really hate the Torino but it was sure fun to needle Starsky about the silly car. 

Rationally, Hutch knew why they were here. It made perfect sense. They certainly couldn't chance any more heroin coming into Bay City and Hutch had a particular hatred for heroin. With a smirk, he wondered if being kidnapped, shot full of dope, and turned into a temporary junkie had anything to do with that particular dislike. Seemed like a reasonable conclusion. 

Lifting the glasses, he made another sweep of the area. Not a fly moved. With a hard put-upon sigh, Hutch lowered the binoculars and turned in his seat to face his partner. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded. His tone was not very pleasant. 

Starsky snorted. "Writing." He didn't bother looking up but kept to his task. 

"I can see that, mushbrain. But why?" Hutch whined. He was bored and he wanted Starsky to keep him entertained.

"You're bored so you expect me to keep you entertained," Starsky stated. His pen kept up its track across the page. 

"I do not!" Hutch protested. He was such a liar! 

"Right," Starsky drawled. He wrote for a few more moments before he finally paused. Turning his head, he looked directly at Hutch. "Do you really want to know? And if I tell you, do you swear not to be a dick and laugh?" He held Hutch's gaze intently, and his look was dead serious. 

Hutch studied Starsky in return. He'd been mildly curious concerning whatever Starsky had been intent on writing down for the past three stakeout shifts, but now he was burning with curiosity-killed-the-cat curiosity. If he laughed, Starsky would gut him with that pen and let him bleed out on the dirty seat of his dirty car.

"I promise." He steeled himself, digging his fingernails into his palm to make double sure he didn't laugh. 

Starsky nodded curtly. "I'm writing a romance novel."

Of all the things Starsky could have said he was writing, never in Hutch's wildest notions (if he'd bothered to have wild notions about Starsky's writing) would he have considered a romance novel. 

Hutch laughed. Really, really laughed. Tears running down his face laughing. Shit. He couldn't help himself, and he couldn't stop. Honestly, it was the dumbest thing Starsky had ever revealed. A fucking romance novel? 

While Starsky glared at him through narrowed eyes, Hutch finally regained control. Except for the hiccups. He swallowed and swiped at his drippy nose. "Ahh, okay. Why?" 

"You're such an asshole." 

"Sorry, Starsk. Really. But... but why? A romance novel? Wait! You're joking." Hutch guffawed. "Ya got me. For a second I thought you were serious." 

"Look at my face." Starsky pointed at himself. "Am I laughing?" he snapped, clearly irritated. 

"Okay. Okay. Sorry." Hutch paused. He was a damned detective, so detect! "Starsky," he said reasonably, "why are you writing in that notebook?" 

With the patience of an adult speaking to a three year old, a three year old who apparently needed spanked, he said, slowly and clearly, "Because I want to. Because I'm a good writer, and because I want to retire with enough money for an island in the sun. A cop's pension is all well and good if I live that long but with inflation and cost of living and gas prices, it won't be enough. I want fame and fortune. Well, fortune. Don't care about the fame. Any more questions?" 

"You're kidding." 

"Nope." Starsky dismissed him with a look and went back to his writing. 

Hutch watched him for another minute, remembered his duty to watch the warehouse (nothing happening, of course) and returned to his perusal of the side of Starsky's head. Starsky had a nice head, and nice hair. He liked to run his fingers through it. Stop! Detect, remember? 

Starsk was writing in a regular lined tablet with a wire spiral down the side, like kids used for school. He had a small book-light clamped to the pad and a white Bic pen in his hand. There were three more pens on the dashboard (white Bics with black caps). Once in a while, he'd pause to chew on the end of the pen before he went back to his self-appointed task. From Hutch's perspective, he'd written in almost all of that notebook. On both sides of the pages no less. That was a lot of words. 

The longer Hutch watched Starsky, the more interested he became. "Why a romance novel? Why not a war story or a search 'n rescue? A spy novel? Why romance?" Hutch asked, trying to keep his tone moderated. If Starsky thought Hutch was going to start hee-hawing again he'd clam up, and now Hutch was dying (again) of curiosity. At this rate, he'd use all of his nine lives in one night. 

Starsky stopped writing to stare out the windshield. Finally, after a long pause, he said, "There was this half a page announcement in the Sunday paper a few weeks ago. They're looking for new authors to be included in a group of romance stories. They're taking submissions, and if you get picked, you get a hundred bucks and your story is published." He looked over at Hutch. "Before ya say anything, it's a real publishing house. I checked them out at the library, in case you're thinking it's a scam. They don't want any money from me and they aren't makin' any crazy promises." He shrugged. "Deadline in two months. I want to see if I can do it. 

"And another thing. I'm writing it about two private eyes, because two cops aren't allowed to be doing it and still be partners. My couple are falling in love, and soon they'll be falling into bed. Two gumshoes in their own business can do what they like and ain't nobody going to tell them they can't make love. Not like the big boys upstairs would tell us if they found out." 

"Wow. You've really thought this through." Hutch stared at Starsky, impressed at the thought he'd put into his topic. He was adamant about his resolve and Hutch was proud of him. 

"Are you watching that warehouse or me?" Starsky asked, chuckling. He hit the little button on the side of his watch to illuminate the dial. "My turn. Give me those binoculars and climb in the back for a nap." 

"Can I read it?"

"Maybe. Ask me when you wake up." 

Hutch grunted. He passed the binoculars to Starsky, leaned against the door and closed his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't climbing into the back. Not with all the fast food trash, empty root beer cans, and the occasional candy wrapper that would be sticky with melted chocolate and nougat back there. 

He couldn't sleep. Hutch sighed heavily. 

"Can't sleep?" Starsky asked. 

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes. "Nah. I mean, yeah, can't sleep." 

"You might be more comfy in the back seat." Starsky looked over his shoulder. "Maybe not. We haven't cleaned out this heap in a couple'a days and you had a lot of crap back there already. How long has that laundry bag been back there? Since last Christmas? Nobody would fit back there except maybe a mouse or two." 

"Are you disparaging my vehicle, Starsk?" Hutch asked. 

"Are you pouting?" Starsky responded. 

"No." Hutch pouted. 

With a chuckle, Starsky lowered the binoculars. "You're such a liar." 

"I want a cup of coffee." 

"Thermos is empty." 

"Great." Hutch was quiet for all of about thirty seconds before he asked, "Can I read your story?" 

"Don't know. Can you?" 

"Moron. May I read your opus?"

Starsky chewed on his lower lip. He eyed Hutch closely. "You can read it and you can offer suggestions on editing or even the plot as long as you don't make fun of it. Deal?" 

"Deal." Hutch rubbed his hands together. 

Starsky handed him the notebook, then returned to his observation of the warehouse. 

Hutch opened the notebook and flicked on the little light. It cast enough illumination to read by but not give away their presence. He and Starsky were, after all, Bay City's finest. He began to read. 

After he'd read about a third of the notebook, Hutch paused. "Starsk, this is good. I'm really enjoying it." 

Starsky smiled as he watched the warehouse. "Don't sound so surprised." 

"No, I mean it. I'm not surprised. Okay, I'm surprised. I had no idea you were a spinner of tales." 

"You really like it?" 

Hutch put a hand on Starsky's shoulder. "Yeah, I do. You have a few places that your point of view has wavered but I like the characters. Black and White. Great title and a touch of a reference to us being cops. Emma Black and Reuben White. Clever." He squeezed Starsky's shoulder. "What about your pseudonym?"

"Been thinking about that. Most romance novels are written by gals. Do ya think it would sound better being female?" 

Hutch laughed. "It might. What were you thinking? Barbara Cartland's already taken." 

"Hardee-har-har. I might not be Barbara Cartland but I'm gonna try." 

"Starsky." 

"Hmmm," he responded as he peered through the binoculars. 

"Just musing names. David Starsky. Della Starsky? Debbie Star?" 

"Oh!" Starsky turned to look at his partner. "Star! Star Davis!" 

"I like it," Hutch agreed. "Sounds... professional. Like a stripper." 

"Far out. I like strippers. Star Davis it is." 

"We're making progress." 

"We?" Starsky asked, laughing. He gave the area a look-see. "There isn't even a stray cat movin' out there." He planted the binoculars on the dashboard. 

Hutch turned back a few pages to reread. "I like this part but it does sound vaguely familiar." 

"Write what you know," Starsky said sagely. "That's what everybody says." 

"And you do know this. I like how you changed enough stuff that no one but me and you would realize you've told the story about that case when the two elderly residents of the nursing home tried to blow up a building to get better meals and the roof fixed." 

"Now that was a stupid idea if I ever heard one." 

"Tell me about it." 

Starsky looked through the binoculars once more but Hutch could see his smile. His partner liked talking about this endeavor even though he had been reluctant to share at first. He returned to his reading. 

After a while, Starsky said, "I read in a book about writing that it's good to read your story out loud." He glanced at his watch with the illuminated dial. "You got fifteen minutes so if you ain't gonna sleep, why don't you read something, and I'll see if I barf." 

"You'd better not barf in my car!" 

"Right," Starsky drawled out the word. "I'd hate to ruin anything about this heap a' junk. A little vomit might actually improve it." 

"I wouldn't if I were you." With a disgusted snort, Hutch began to read: "White was driving the beautiful black '57 T-bird that he loved to pieces. Not as much as he loved the gal next to him. Black was riding shotgun, drinking a can of root beer and keeping her eyes trained on the stolen car they were trailing. She was a gorgeous dame. All long legs and silky blond hair, in contrast to his dark features. Currently, she had her hand on Black's knee, sending warm feelings up his thigh to his-" 

Hutch paused. "Wow. It sounds a lot like us." 

"I do not ride around with my hand on your knee, Hutch." 

"You could," Hutch volunteered with a grin full of teeth.

"Dork. Stop it. We're workin' here." 

Hutch yawned. "And I'm so tired of stakeouts I could scream. I'm hungry and I want my own bed."

Starsky swept the area with the glasses. "I'd be down with that. I'm hungry and I want your bed." 

"And there we have it, folks. The romantic Star Davis at work." 

\-------------------------------------------

Some time later... 

Hutch put the final touch of basil into his marinara sauce. He was so sick of take out and hot dog carts that he'd spent a good part of his day off shopping for a killer dinner: spaghetti, meat balls, and garlic bread. He'd bought the ingredients for a salad as well. Starsky would grouse about the green stuff but he'd eat it as long as it had blue cheese and croûtons on it. 

With a happy smile, Hutch stirred the sauce, careful not break up the simmering meatballs. No ground beef dumped into the sauce tonight. He wanted a full Mama's Italian dinner. Not his mother- she was more a shrimp cocktail and Beef Wellington kind of woman, but Mama's over on Sepulveda. Man, Mama made an amazing Eggplant Parmesan. 

The door flew open and the tornado that was his partner blew in. There was a definite swirling of air as his exuberant partner rushed over, all the while waving a large sickly-yellowish manila envelope. 

"Look!" Starsky held the package up for half a second. Not long enough for Hutch to read the sender, let alone the recipient. 

"Great. What is it? That new lube you wanted to try? Only you would get lube mail order-" 

"No! You're such a moron. It's my book!" Starsky jumped around like a three year old getting his first pony ride. "Well, not my book but the book my story is in!" 

Hutch wiped his hand on the towel tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it on the counter and turned to his exuberant partner, hands on Starsky's shoulders. 

"That is fantastic, Starsk. I'm proud of you. Open it and let's look!" 

Hutch found he was as excited as Starsky. They'd waited many long months for this to come to fruition. First, it was waiting to see if Starsky's story had been one of the chosen ones. Then it was approving the editing. Next came the long wait for the book to be printed and mailed to the authors. The book itself would be distributed nationwide in the weeks to come. It might even be a Doubleday Book Club pick of the month. 

Starsky held the envelope to his chest, hugging it tightly. "I wanna wait until after dinner. I want to be tucked up in bed with you, and we'll read some of it together. What do ya say?" 

Hutch laughed. "Do you think you can wait that long?" 

"Yup. Besides, looks like you've been working hard here, and I'm starving." Starsky leaned forward. Hutch met him part way and they kissed lightly. "Uhmmm. You've been sampling the sauce." 

"Dinner in ten minutes. Water's boiling and this spaghetti needs about six minutes to al dente perfection." 

"I'll wash my hands and set the table. I want extra garlic bread." 

\------------------------------------------

Cuddled in the big California king bed Hutch had bought a few months back, Starsky wrapped a leg around his lover's. He gently tore the package open and reverently slid the contents out into Hutch's lap. 

Two shiny new books piled onto the bedspread. Hutch put out a finger and ran it gently across the dust jacket. 

"It looks amazing," Hutch murmured. "Wow. Nice cover." 

The art work on the cover was more than likely typical romance genre stuff but to Hutch it was the stuff of dreams. 

Starsky lifted one of the books and stared at it. He blinked rapidly for a few moments. Hutch squeezed his arm. 

"It's pretty, Hutch. Of course, the couple is probably a bit too perfect. What guy has hair that long and flowing? The gal has a perfect body and makeup, and hair that would make any model jealous but I like it. It's fun." 

Hutch nodded. The couple was in an embrace with the woman leaning back against the man. He had his arms around her possessively, and as Starsky said, both people were perfection itself. But it didn't matter because when Starsky opened the book to the table of contents, there, in the third spot from the top was Starsky's story: Black and White by Star Davis. 

"Starsk, I think I'm gonna cry. You did it!" He pulled his lover close, kissing the side of his face right on the temple. He did it with a loud smacking sound, which made Starsky laugh. 

Flipping to the page where his story began, Starsky stared at the printed words for a good two minutes. 

"I can't believe it." 

"You cashed the check a few months ago," Hutch reminded him. 

Starsky punched Hutch's arm. "Figure of speech, dickhead." 

"Hey! And here I thought you loved me." Hutch batted his eyelashes, which made Starsky giggle. He smiled fondly at his crazy partner. 

"So..." Starsky crawled onto Hutch, straddling his torso. "Why don't you go to the last part and start reading. I'll listen to your melodious tones." 

Hutch snorted loudly. "You're on a roll tonight." 

"Nah. I'm on you tonight," Starsky said, waggling an eyebrow. 

Laughing, Hutch flipped through the pages until he came to the last chapter of Starsky's story. 

"Black straddled White." Hutch peered over the book at Starsky. "I take it these are going to be your instructions for this evening's entertainment?"

"Yup." 

"Great." Hutch grinned before focusing back on the printed words. "Black straddled White. She leaned down and lightly kissed his forehead." 

Starsky kissed Hutch's forehead gently. "Love you." 

Hutch smiled. "Love you, too." Then he read: "Lightly planting kisses down White's face, she nibbled the end of his nose before moving onto her lover's soft lips..." 

Starsky did the same, kissing Hutch's face before pressing their lips together. After a nice, long kiss Starsky pulled back. 

"Kind'a hard to talk when you're kissing me. I can read later." Hutch gave Starsky a puppy dog look. 

"Nope. Keep reading." 

"Black slid her lithe body back until she rested her bottom on White's thighs. She took advantage of the expanse of White's toned chest, nibbling on first his left nipple and then his- right." 

"Keep going," Starsky ordered. While he nipped Hutch's right nibble, he rolled the other between his fingers. 

"Starsk!" Hutch cried. "Jeez." 

"That ain't in the book." 

"You're tormenting me!" 

"Good. Read!" He scraped a fingernail over Hutch's left nipple, making his shiver. 

After swallowing loudly, Hutch held up the book so he could read. "Black kissed and licked her way down White's shuddering body until she reached her goal. She took him into her mouth. He tossed his head back and let out a gasp of pure pleasure." 

Hutch threw the book across the room before he threaded his fingers through Starsky's hair. Starsky licked and sucked, holding Hutch firmly in his hand. He went about his task as if he hadn't eaten for a week. Hutch writhed on the bed, vainly trying to lift his hips. Starsky's weight kept him in place. 

"Starsky!" 

Starsky kept his hand around Hutch but raised his head. "Ain't in the book." 

"Screw the book!" Hutch cried. 

"Nah. Rather screw you." 

So he did. Much to Hutch's extreme happiness and pleasure. 

And that's how Starsky became the romance writer of the year. Well, maybe not but as long as he kept writing those sex scenes and practicing them on Hutch, Hutch thought Starsky was the best writer in the world. 

\--------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the SHarecon 2018 zine. Thanks to Flamingo and her birdlets for all they do for the S&H fandom.


End file.
